


Only the Strong

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He will be strong enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shibara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shibara/gifts).



> So Shibara drew [a picture](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/shibara_ffnet/47450483/33166/33166_original.png). And that should explain everything. I just had to write something.

I always thought I was strong, that I was my own mech and that I would never bend to another’s will. Strange how things change.

I remember long ago when I was strong enough to forge my own path. When the Iacon Academy refused to admit me into the prestigious medical classes. Denied because of one thing I couldn't control. I am a seeker. War build. Unsuitable to become a medic. Look what happened to the Science Academy when they let a seeker in. I didn't let that stop me from finding a mech who would take me in as an apprentice.

I was even stronger when the Winglord called all the wings of Vos to arms. When we were called to fight for a cause which wasn't about justice or freedom, but tyranny and power. I left my kin behind when I defected. No matter what the grounders said about me, that I must be a spy, or that I'd betray them too. I let my skills speak for me.

I was strong enough to deny some of the most vicious Decepticons what they wanted for a long time. I kept my people safe no matter the cost. I did not break, did not waver when I could so easily have given in to their demands.

I don't know when I lost that strength.

Was it when I woke up here? Or later? Worn down piece by piece until there is nothing left of what I once was.

Proud? Yes I was. I had earnt the right to my pride. Now? What use is pride here but another emotion to be exploited?

Arrogant? Definitely. I was the best. I'd practiced for longer than most at my craft. If they wanted respect they too could spent that time bettering themselves instead of useless pursuits. But now my arrogance is a hindrance.

Footsteps break me from my musing, heavy on the polished floor and a twist my helm a touch, just enough to catch a glimpse of Tesarus. I don't look up as I try to mask my revulsion as his electromagnetic field pushes against my own, cloying and sickly sweet with the promise of things I would rather not know about.

A thumb rubs over my chevron, the thin metal bending and the dense sensor net inside it protests the harsh treatment with a slew of errors. My systems hitch slightly, wings twitching and I duck my helm out from under the hand. I rest it on the nearest thigh and _his_ hand rests lightly on it, forestalling any further attempts by Tesarus to pet me.

This should be where shame hits me, instead I feel only a vague relief that _he's_ in a good mood and feeling possessive. Is this what I'm reduced to. Setting my own life to the whims of a Decepticon? Whatever happened to the Autobot medic who had no fear?

He was ground down till what pride was left shattered on the cold floor of a Decepticon ship and was ground beneath _his_ feet. Then it is _he_ who soothes the jagged edges, _he_ who picks up what is left, _he_ whose voice winds into my spark, promising warmth and comfort.

I know what he is doing. Yet I am helpless to stop it. Autonomous coding cares not for what a mech wants, only for action and reaction. Touch something hot, it records the image and the fact that the item is dangerous. Step into the acid rain and it makes a note that liquid falling from the sky may potentially be dangerous. Comfort a spark enough after another has harmed it and coding will start to equate the saviour as safe.

I bury my face against _his_ plating, hating the way my spark settles at the absent-minded smoothing of a hand over my helm.

This is what's left when you shatter a mechs pride and grind their will down till it is nothing but dust. Part of me thinks it would have been better if I had extinguished out there. Then the last reserves of strength kick in. One day, I tell myself. One day I will be free.

One day I will be strong again.


End file.
